March 24, 2019

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Software Is Everywhere, But It's Not Always an Upgrade

The cockpit of a grounded Lion Air Boeing 737 Max 8 aircraft is seen on March 15.

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Investigations into the causes of the two Boeing 737 Max crashes, in Indonesia and Ethiopia, have focused on software — and the possibility that it was autonomously pointing the planes’ noses downward, acting without the pilots’ consent.

It’s a nightmare scenario. It’s also a reminder that software is everywhere, sometimes doing things we don’t expect.

This sank in for a lot of people four years ago, during the Volkswagen diesel emissions scandal. It turned out that software inside the cars had been quietly running the engines in such a way as to cheat on emissions tests.

While it’s always possible for manufacturers to use software dishonestly, the more common problem is software that’s used to enable sloppy designs.

“A lot of times, you see systems that would be much easier to control if somebody had been thoughtful about the mechanical design,” says Chris Gerdes, a professor of mechanical engineering at Stanford University.

He says sometimes he’s brought in as a consultant on a project and he’ll find that a moving part was poorly conceived — perhaps it generates too much friction. Designers will leave the problem, assuming the control software will make up for it.

Still, he says software has mostly helped improve cars and other complex systems. And it would be impossible to go back to purely mechanical designs, such as pre-digital automobiles.

“If you open these things up, it’s crazy!” he says, describing the intricate hydraulic systems inside automatic transmissions back before cars had computers. Complex systems of tubes and liquid would “calculate” when to shift gears, something no carmaker would attempt today.

“I have deep appreciation for this but also no idea about how one would implement logic in fluids,” Gerdes says.

Software is quicker, lighter, cheaper and much more flexible than mechanical systems.

For Kara Pernice, senior vice president of the user-experience design consulting firm Nielsen Norman Group, software is a very necessary part of modern manufacturing. But she says it’s often added too late in the design process.

“Many times, hardware-software creation is disjointed,” she says, calling it a “huge problem.”

As an example, she recalls driving her parents’ car recently and being flummoxed by the touch screen.

“I could not figure out how to turn down the air conditioning on a touch screen,” she says. “Are you kidding me?”

Touch screens may strike customers as up to date, but they can also be a shortcut for manufacturers. By leaving all the controls to the programmers of the screen, the mechanical designers can skip the more careful — and time-consuming — process of “considering the human that’s going to use that technology in the end,” as Pernice says. Touch screens often preclude consideration of mechanical controls — such as a knob for the air conditioning — in places where it would make more design sense.

Sometimes, the change to software controls can be deadly. Among the most notorious cases is the Therac-25, a radiation therapy machine built in the 1980s. It dispensed with mechanical safety interlocks of earlier models and replaced them with software. The software turned out to have bugs, and patients were over-radiated — a few were even killed. It became a case study for how not to design safety-critical systems.

But even now, software is a potential risk in medical devices — and programming was the most common cause of medical device recalls last year.

In aviation, software is indispensable. And generally speaking, designers say it has made airplanes much safer and more versatile.

It’s not just about autopilot, says Kristi Morgansen, professor of aeronautics and astronautics at the University of Washington. The next time you fly, she says, just look out the window at the wing.

“You sometimes see the control surfaces doing things, and a bunch of that is automatic,” she says. “Like gust load alleviation — ride quality, how it feels when you fly — a lot of that is handled automatically.”

On the 737 Max, Boeing used software to compensate for a compromise in the physical design. New, larger engines were added to an older airframe, changing its center of gravity. The software suspected of causing the crashes was there to correct for that and push the nose down when it rose too high.

That may strike the layperson as a “kluge” — using software to cover up a problem. But aviation designers say compromises and compensations are a necessary part of design.

Morgansen won’t comment on the 737 Max crashes, which are still under investigation, but she says that generally speaking, using new software on top of older systems is safe — and necessary.

“It would be so cost prohibitive to start from scratch,” she says. “It would take so long that the business model wouldn’t work.”

Commercial pilots have generally come to accept autonomous software as part of flying.

“I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong about doing it through software, provided you do it correctly,” says Alex Fisher, a retired pilot of Boeing 767s. He says that long before computers, pilots have depended on mechanical autonomous systems to smooth out the controls.

“There are other features of the airplane that we were unaware of,” Fisher says, “[but] whether they really applied to the control systems is another matter. If you aren’t taught how the controls work, then you really don’t stand much of a chance.”

Columbia Law School professor Eben Moglen, who has long championed transparency in software, says the real lesson to take from the 737 Max is the necessity for autonomous software systems to “explain themselves” to the people using them.

He says software has allowed manufacturers to cut corners and costs on things like camera phones — say, using image-enhancement software to compensate for inferior lenses. “Every smartphone manufacturer I’ve ever dealt with regards the color-enhancement part of its camera software as among its most valuable trade secrets,” Moglen says.

But cheap physical designs are a minor consideration, he says, compared with what the 737 Max situation represents.

“What we’re looking at in the case of some aerodynamic software taking over from pilots without telling them,” he says, “is an example of why, even if you didn’t think any of this had anything to do with politics, it is still true that systems that don’t explain themselves to the human beings that interact with them are dangerous.”

Moglen says authoritarian autonomous software is becoming a hallmark of authoritarian societies, such as China, and it’s up to democratic societies “to build these technologies to support, rather than threaten, human freedom.”

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The Last American Baseball Glove Factory

Baseball’s opening day is right around the corner and one company will be paying close attention. Nokona is the last remaining glove maker that still produces the gloves in the U.S. for MLB players.



LULU GARCIA-NAVARRO, HOST:

Baseball is back again. The first games of the regular season were played last week in Tokyo. America’s oldest professional sport has grown worldwide and the industry that supports it. But a tiny town in Texas is holding onto one tradition. KERA’s Bill Zeeble in Dallas takes us to the factory that’s still making gloves in the U.S. for major league baseball players.

BILL ZEEBLE, BYLINE: About a hundred miles northwest of Dallas-Fort Worth past pastures of crops and cattle sits Nocona, Texas, population 3,000, home to the Nokona baseball glove factory.

(SOUNDBITE OF MACHINERY WHIRRING)

ZEEBLE: Inside, stacks of tanned and dyed kangaroo, buffalo and calf skins are piled at one end of the 20,000-square-foot shop.

ROB STOREY: We literally bring leather in through one door. And magically, ball gloves come out the door at the very end – that and about 45 labor operations, then you’ve got a ball glove.

ZEEBLE: Rob Storey should know. He’s Nokona’s executive vice president. And this is the family business. To survive the depression, his grandfather Bob Storey added ball gloves to the family’s line of leather goods in 1934. Since then, just about every U.S. competitor has moved production overseas. Grandfather Bob, who died in 1980, said he’d rather quit and go fishing than import Nokonas.

STOREY: In some ways, we see it as a competitive advantage because we have people that understand the game of baseball. Our competitors are making them in factories. A lot of those factories – people have never even seen a baseball game or know what it is. Sure, it would be easy to go over there and do something. But that’s not who we are. We’re not about easy.

ZEEBLE: Nokona and it’s 75 employees are about making, marketing and selling their mostly handmade gloves in the town with the same name. The brand honors Comanche chief Peta Nocona. The company couldn’t legally use the city’s spelling, so Storey’s grandfather changed the C to a K. And its been spelled that way ever since. Martin Gomez has been Nocona’s master glove turner for 19 years. That’s a big deal because every glove is first sewn inside-out.

MARTIN GOMEZ: It’s not that hard. No, but it takes some time to learn, to get used to. Like, the first time you start to work, it give you a blister all over your hands. But you get used to it.

ZEEBLE: Storey says Gomez is modest. If he’s not careful, he can tear the leather and hand-stitching. Gomez slides a rod in each inside-out finger, pushes it hard against a wooden dowel and turns each leather finger back the right way. First, he sprays leather softener on the inside-out glove. Then, says Storey, he heats it on a 250-degree metal form.

STOREY: It’s very critical to do that so that you don’t rip out any of the seams while we’re going through this process because this process, in some ways, is more difficult on the glove than, actually, the game of baseball.

ZEEBLE: The game of baseball, after all, is what Nokona’s all about, even if it’s not nearly as well-known as giants like Rawlings or Wilson. In the youth market, though, it’s big.

ROBBY SCOTT: I grew up using a Nokona glove. My first glove that I ever really remember was a first baseman’s mitt that was a Nokona.

ZEEBLE: That’s Arizona relief pitcher Robby Scott. When we first talked long distance, he was with the Red Sox between World Series games. Nokona found him while searching for player endorsements. Scott says there’s just something special about it.

SCOTT: I will never wear a different glove. It’s a special bond that I have with them. They could have 200 players wearing their gloves. But to me, it seems special because they make it seem like I’m the only one.

ZEEBLE: And, says Storey, Nokona’s the only maker he knows of that’ll refurbish its old, tattered mitts. He says try that with a glove made overseas.

For NPR News, I’m Bill Zeeble in Nocona, Texas.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

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